


Happiness

by ghee (sabakunoghee)



Series: Arthur Fleck; the clown [2]
Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 02:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21008294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabakunoghee/pseuds/ghee
Summary: If this feeling inside his chest wasn’thappiness, Arthur didn’t know what it was.





	Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> Un-betaed. Another character study based on this scene. Picture from a random search on google.

* * *

Living in a dystopia made him got used to running.

When he was a child, he ran from those bullies who tried to humiliate him in front of the school gate. When he was a clown, he ran to catch five rascals who stole his sign and ended up brutally assaulted. He ran every day – and days became weeks, weeks became months, months became years. As time went by, he realized he had been running his entire life. Running, for him, was a matter of survival.

However, Arthur Fleck stopped running tonight. Might it be both literally and figuratively – he stood up, he spoke up, he sat up, but he faced it all with the clarity of mind. Usually, when he did nothing, his brain would be preoccupied with miserable, suicidal thoughts, and it was tiring and torturing and exhausting to laugh it off. Arthur had to move, to sway, to _dance_, his own unique coping mechanism to encounter those negative vibes which tried to hack his rationality (though, he wasn’t sure he had one from the beginning). But he was fine being there. Hands cuffed, locked up in police custody. They arrested him right after he assassinated Murray on-screen – and Arthur didn’t fight back, not at all.

For decades, he had no purpose. He only had his mother and the late-night show host. He was cold when he judged them both. And he believed that they _deserved _it for disappointing him to this extent.

Arthur just accomplished his first and final goal.

So he stopped running.

He quickly learned that he felt content. His mind went from psychotic manner into tranquillity as he recalled how good it was to determine someone else’s fate. He defended himself, he killed those who harmed him, and _oh dear_, it was satisfying. Arthur praised himself with a small chuckle – he did a great job, didn’t he? This world they lived in was already crumbling and he made a difference by diminishing the rubbish; a lying mother, a fake entertainer. _Garbage like those three white-collars who couldn’t even respect a woman._

Even though – he felt tired after all the madness, both of his physical and mental condition, he almost collapsed if his eyes didn’t catch the scenery outside the car window. The underclass of Gotham city stood up together in an uprising. Arthur had never seen a number of people this massive; they wore the identical clown-mask and rampaging around the town uncontrollably. There was no such thing as a leader, they moved of their own accord because they _knew_ something was really wrong with the system and they needed to fix the society. Arthur saw the beauty in it. He was startled by the fireworks and the burning caused by Molotov cocktails. He was amused watching how the people claimed their home – ah, look at an old man who stole the television; his grandson must be happy for finally having one.

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh,

His eyes were glimmering in excitement as if he was a six-year-old who just received his first Christmas gift. (He never got one, though.) The spark of fire emphasized his facial features and in the darkness, Arthur was enchantingly beautiful with the childish smile on his painted face. At that exact moment, his enthusiasm penetrated his insanity, left him in serenity – _it was his very first minute of pleasure he never thought he would experience._ If only he had the luxury to feel this in another, better way. If only he could achieve the privilege which was exploited by the riches. If only, if only – scum like him and those rioters were the product of discrimination and isolation. Karma was a dish best served cold.

If this feeling inside his chest wasn’t _happiness_, Arthur didn’t know what it was.


End file.
